


Black Sheep

by destinae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Hey Fellas Is It Gay To Bind Your Homies Soul To Your Own In A Series Of Arcane Magical Rituals?, Other, Will They/Won't They/Should They
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24524050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: In an urban fantasy universe where minor demons are as much a pest as cockroaches, Newt struggles to find his identity outside of his role as the youngest member of a city Guild-- an organization for highly-gifted individuals who are assigned to seek out and exterminate large-scale demonic threats.Surely, nothing will go wrong.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, Tendo/Everyone honestly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

There's a dying star trapped in Newt's ribcage.

It's always been there. It just hasn't always been dying.

Once upon a time, it was a nebula of thought and feeling. Identity in the abstract. Unrefined brilliance. He was young, then. He didn't know what was best for him. He didn't need to. The world was a simple, honest place. And he was a simple, honest kid. Feeling swarmed freely around him. Catharsis was a cloud that Newt breathed in and out and in, that he felt in every inch of his body from his fingertips to his kneecaps to his toes. Self-expression was free and natural.

Somewhere around the age of sixteen, the fabric of spacetime folded around Newt. It wove itself between each individual rib, drawing up a metaphysical barrier between his heart and his lungs and the world. It was there, in the midst of the pressure and the suffocation and the heartache, that the nebula of self was concentrated. It congealed. It drew Newt back in on himself, folding the nebulae of anxiety and neurosis and excitement in and in and in, until they formed a solid mass.

A massive star.

He blazed in his golden mania. And the world was beholden to his constant entropy. He was a _teenager_. He wasn't searching for something, he _was_ the something. And he was everything. He was a massive star, bigger than himself, running on a supply of hydrogen ambition and helium dreams.

But the star runs out. It has to. In fact, the biggest stars burn out the fastest. So, when he finally burns through his concentrated youth, his ambition bloats. Red Supergiant.

Cosmic death.

It's more of a hospice, technically. Newt will be the first to remind you as much. The star isn't dead _yet_. It's just finally having to borrow its time. Life isn't the currency with which he buys adventure. Now, _life_ is the adventure. And he's on his hero's journey.

Waxing poetic about one's existential stagnation at the still-young age of twenty-five is absurd. But, so are all of Newt's present circumstances.

He's _technically_ a massive success. But, so is a nuclear bomb. It's all about perspective. And from his point of view? It's nuclear winter.

It's all about the Guild. It's _actually_ about the Demons, but the Guild was the nexus through which Newt encountered the Demons to begin with.

It's not about the burning thing inside of him. It's about the smoke he breathes, and the words that spill from his lips, more concerned with escaping whatever burns inside of him than they are about being remotely presentable.

And it's about the past eight months, and how they cost him everything.

Tracing anything back to a single incident would be a fool's errand. There's no such thing as an uncaused cause-- at least, not one that Newt would have any knowledge of. He's a child of the universe, not an expert on it. He's at the end of his rope.

Heat death is no place to start a story, though.

So we retrace the horsehair thread of time, back to a time more similar to the one you find yourself in now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the world of Guilds!
> 
> This is a universe I created when I was in high school. It's very heavily inspired by Destiny 2 and, unfortunately, The Mortal Instruments. A *lot* of elements and rules of magic are borrowed from Destiny and The Force in Star Wars-- but you'll see more of that next chapter.
> 
> I hope that you understand these similarities are meant as either homages or overt references, and that I recognize their derivative nature. That being said!! Next chapter, baby.


	2. Chapter 2

**"Did you move my tome?"** Newt's voice cracks the silence of the Guild's humble living room wide open. He stands by the arm of a well-worn but sturdy sofa, arms crossed in a cheap imitation of toughness that is only cheapened further by the faux-vintage Captain America shirt that he's wearing.

The tome in question is written in a language unspeakable by the mortal tongue, but loosely translates to something along the lines of _Containment Spells For The Common Man_. It's an inauspicious yet valuable tome.

Unfortunately, Stacker isn't concerned with Newt's small-time sleuthing. **"No."** He responds, before returning his attention to a spreadsheet he's pulled up on his computer. While Newt can't see its contents, it would be a healthy guess that it has something to do with recent Demonic manifestation statistics. The city's been _crawling_ with Demons in recent months. While there's a certain natural ebb and flow to Demonic presence, with the supernatural population of any area being typically proportionate to the quantity and quality of human life in any one area, the recent escalation of Demonic manifestation is unprecedented. Demons aren't just gnawing on people's power lines and breaking lightbulbs anymore. Now, they eat up middle schools and level shopping malls. The Guild has always existed to address these threats, but never with such frequency.

And now, it's Stacker's job to explore how four twenty-something year olds are supposed to save the world twice a month.

He has to. As the oldest member of the Guild and its only Paladin, he's the _de facto_ leader of the Guild's day-to-day operations. It's Stacker's unfortunate responsibility to take care of anything that the rest of the Guild's membership won't. This usually leaves him either poring over critical data forwarded to him by local magical record keeping authorities, or washing the dishes. This also tends to leave him generally short of temper.

 **"Are you sure?"** Newt climbs awkwardly over the arm of the sofa, laying back on it and throwing one leg over the back. He folds his hands on his stomach, and uses his free foot to gently nudge Stacker's elbow. **"Because, I left it right where you're sitting. Like, _right_ where your butt is."**

Stacker swats away Newt's foot before wiping the resulting, nonexistent grime on his hand off on the sofa. **"The sofa was empty when I got here, Newton."** He responds, before punching a number in on a column of the spreadsheet that's been highlighted a bright blue. **"Go interrogate someone else."** It's not a request, it's an order.

But subordination has never been Newt's strength. He groans, throwing his hands theatrically up in the air. **"Like who? Tendo? He's still at the Orlando Guild's place. So unless he's decided to learn portaling magic-- or any magic, _at all_ \-- I doubt he did it. And Hermann's been locked in his room all morning finding new ways to stab things, so it's down to either you or me."** Newt shifts, sitting up, crossing his legs on the sofa. **"And if I had been the one who moved it, I wouldn't be here to begin with."**

An exasperated sigh from Stacker. He clenches both hands into fists, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. **"You're a Warlock, Newt. Use a dowsing spell."**

A laugh escapes Newt's mouth before he can think to stifle it. In a late attempt to cover his tracks, he clamps a hand over his mouth. **"Sorry. A _dowsing spell_? On my copy of _Containment_?"** He can't help that the idea is laughable. Newt has worked _extensively_ to wrap all of the Guild's most valuable material possessions in an ever-expanding cocoon of protective wards. Even Stacker's laptop has about eight different enchantments on it that would curse anyone outside of the Guild who tried to open it. These enchantments, however, are a double-edged sword: they also nullify any magic used on them by Newt.

Such as a dowsing spell. **"I mean, even if the book is in range for such a basic spell, do you really think I'd let the book be that easily located by an enchantment that any thirteen-year-old magic-attuned kid could learn? That's- that's just absurd. I mean-"**

**"I don't know where your spellbook is."** Stacker replies with a tone of finality. **"You are the magical expert. I trust you will be able to find it. Now, I have work to do for tonights roundtable. If you want me to look for your book, I can. But then _you_ will have to do the damage report from the other day's Exorcism."**

Immediately, Newt is back on his feet. The administrative side of Guild operations has never been his speciality. He, like Tendo and Hermann, likes to keep his work focused on research and development of magical practices. That's what their Guild has _always_ been known for. Even before Newt joined their ranks a little over a year ago, the Guild's contributions to Magical studies far outranked the contributions of all of the North American Guilds combined. It's not just brawn that makes them strong-- it's brain.

He departs the living room, climbing up the impossibly creaky stairs of the Guild's small, shared house and arriving outside Hermann's bedroom. Newt doesn't bother opening the door-- the last time that he did, he was hexed to speak _only_ in German for three weeks.

A short-sighted hex, considering Hermann was the only other person in the Guild who _also_ spoke German.

Newt knocks at the door. **"Hermann!"** He says, answered by silence.

He can hear Hermann inside. There's a muffled yet unmistakable sound of scraping and burning metal. Another knock. **"Hermann, where did you put my tome?"** The scraping stops briefly. Then, picks back up. **"Come on, dude. I don't care if you used it."** This time, the scraping doesn't stop.

This is about the time that Newt would grab his staff and draw a portal into Hermann's room if they hadn't endured a two-hour house meeting about three weeks ago about limiting use of magic in the house. He kind of wants to anyway. This tome is _important_. Newt's been tweaking and adding and annotating in this copy of _Containment_ for nearly ten years. It's practically a fucking thesaurus of magic resources. It's not something you can just _replace_.

He knocks rapidly on the door with both hands. Once, twice, over and over until it's a stream of pummels on the hollow wood. He absolutely fucking _wails_ on it for what has to be a full minute. Finally, sound of metal scraping stops again, and the door is opened.

Hermann's been working. It's written all over him: every visible inch of his skin is covered in oil or ink. His shirt and cardigan are charred and stained, too, and he just _reeks_ of residual magic. **"I'm working."**

**"Cool! I was, too, until I saw that someone had stolen my copy of _Containment_."**

**"I hope you find it soon."** Hermann says, tone inundated with indifference. He puts a hand on the door to close it, and Newt steps into the doorframe, pressing back against door, holding it open. 

**"No, listen, man. I know you have it. You've _obviously_ been trying to enchant something. Which, first of all, _Containment_ 's spells aren't really cut out for offensive application, they're far too decorative, but I won't get into that. Just hand it over and I'll think about now mentioning it to Stacker."**

First, Hermann rolls his eyes. **"Typical of you to assume that you have any idea what I'm working on. I'm not enchanting _anything_. In fact, I'm trying to _strip_ one of my weapons of an enchantment that _you_ -"**

Newt groans. **"Ohhhhh my God. If your goal was to bore me out of interrogating you, it worked."** He continues to press his weight against the door, resisting Hermann's continued attempt to shut it. **"Just give me the tome, Hermann."**

**"I. Don't. Have. It."**

In a fit of frustration, Newt pushes past Hermann, walking into his room and making a beeline for the workbench.

Like the rest of Hermann's room, the workbench is in a state of controlled chaos. On its surface is an array of cups and boxes. In the cups are either diminishing quantities of enchanted ink-- which sparkles even in the low light-- or brushes and quills of varying sizes. _Also_ for enchantments. The boxes contain linens and scraps of paper with sigils drawn on them, marks used to attune and amplify the magic of a weapon by being attached to the hilt. At the center of the contained chaos is an impressive-looking dagger. It's almost a foot in length, single-edged and slightly curved. The hilt is clearly designed for reverse grip. The blade is clean, but Newt can sense that it's tangled up in a series of half-undone enchantments. **"What is this?"** Newt asks, addressing both the weapon and the shoddy work.

 **"A project,"** Hermann answers vaguely, now standing unhappily at Newt's side, staring also at the dagger.

 **"Yeah. I can see that."** Newt sits on the chair by the workbench, leaning close enough to the dagger that he can feel the magic radiating off of it. In kindest words, Hermann's work is amateurish. And Newt can't necessarily hold it against him-- being the Guild's resident Rogue, Hermann's magical prowess is all illusory, quick enchantments used to enhance his agility or turn him briefly invisible, these spells but moments spent communing with the divine in order to share its power. Even Stacker, the Paladin and senior Guild officer, only knows basic hexes.

Magic is a language, but it's also a lifestyle. Anyone can _do_ magic, but not everyone is _attuned_ to it. Most people-- like Stacker or Hermann or Tendo-- lack attunement. With years of hard work, they can eke out a few entry-level spells with a small margin of error. But those who are _attuned_ to magic, like Newt, are fewer and further between. But, Newt's not just able to speak the magical language. He's able to improve upon it, to add to it. He's not just petitioning the divine, he's speaking with it. By nature, he can bend the gods' tongue to his will.

So, to see such a haphazard job of disenchantment is both endearing and stressful. **"You know, I would have done this for you if you just asked."** Newt mutters.

 **"That's why I didn't ask. Now, since you can clearly tell that your tome _isn't_ anywhere in among my things, I'd appreciate you leaving so that I can continue my work in peace."** Hermann says, picking at some dirt under one of his nails with an expression of disgust.

Newt sits back in the chair, looking up at Hermann. **"I could give you advice, you know. Just a few pointers."**

 **"If I wanted pointers, I would have said so."** Hermann responds.

 **"It's just-- it's really sloppy, Hermann."** This time, Hermann's answer is silence. Newt nods. **"Fine. Alright. You don't have the tome. But, you're doing mediocre magic, which is just as offensive to me as theft."** He rises out of the chair and looks Hermann in the eyes. **"Nullify the agility rune. The rest should just fall apart."**

Newt leaves the room and Hermann's subsequent fit of rage behind him, shutting the door carefully and running back down the stairs, resigned to search manually for wherever the hell the tome might have gone.

 **"If this is about the tome..."** Stacker says vaguely, not looking up from the computer.

Before he can open his mouth to say something that would have undoubtedly been _very_ clever, Newt is blinded by a white-hot orb of light from the house's small kitchen. It starts out the size of a baseball, growing and growing until it's the size of an entire person.

Then, Tendo steps through, tome under his arm, grinning like an idiot. **"Hey, Newt. Hope you didn't mind that I borrowed this. One of the girls in Orlando wanted to see your modifications on the Entrapment hex."** And because he's Tendo, any irritation that Newt feels towards him is quickly drowned out by admiration and awe. Tendo crosses to Newt. The orb of light disappears, and he puts the book in Newt's hands.

 **"So the meeting went well?"** Stacker asks, still not looking up from the computer.

Tendo smiles, **"Well, as good as things can go with them. Regan's still bugging me for that date."**

Finally, Stacker pulls his attention from his laptop, a single eyebrow raised. **"That Gunslinger still cares more about dinner with you than saving the world?"**

 **"Not like we can't fit both into one day."** Tendo retorts. He rolls up the sleeves of his slightly-worn beige button-up, swaggering to the sofa and sitting beside Stacker. He puts an arm around the other man's shoulder. **"Don't worry, Pentecost. I'll still make time for you."**

Stacker huffs, shrugging off Tendo's embrace. The gesture is as close as he ever gets to a laugh. Tendo sits back on the sofa and looks over the back at Newt. **"Say, Newt, when you got the time, I'll need some help with an idea I got for a new enchantment for my bullets."**

 **"Yeah, sure,"** Newt responds, **"But- since when can you make portals?"**

**"I can't. That was all Mako."**

She's the newest recruit to the Southwest Guild scene, an incredibly adept Warlock who Newt has never met, but already knows well enough about due to her insane talent. To portal across a city is hard enough-- but several states away? Newt swallows his pride. **"Nice. I'll, uh,"** He taps on the cover of his tome. **"I'll get back to work."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to World Building 101 with Destinae. 
> 
> This chapter was a challenge, because I really wanted it to focus on the history, origin, and nature of Guilds, but I also didn't want to put anyone to sleep with the world-building. I hope that I was able to find a decent balance and introduce all the cool character dynamics that I'm trying to work in.
> 
> I'm sure there are probably a ton of unanswered questions about the world and how it works floating in your head. Please be patient! I will try to expand at a healthy pace as we dive further into the story.
> 
> Don't forget to kudo and comment if you liked. I can be found @banksyhater on Tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

Guild operations are a complicated matter.

Technically, each Guild headquarters is responsible for itself. Decisions are made among each Guild's membership, and no one Guild directly influences the other. Not officially. 

This being said, each Guild is _also_ beholden to a small set of strict, unwavering regulations. These few tenets are called the capital-T Tradition. The list is fairly short and is as follows:

1\. **One Guild Per City** Each major metropolitan area will have _one_ Guild to its name. Each city's Guild serves smaller, surrounding suburbs as well.

2\. **Four Members Per Guild** With each member will represent one of the respected Philosophies: Warlock, Paladin, Gunslinger, and Rogue.

3\. **Exorcise The Impure** Kill demons. Straightforward.

And everything else is up to each Guild's individual membership. There is another series of regulations, ones which that govern the recruitment and addition of new members when previous Guild members die or are declared unfit for service, but those are far more strict and complicated. Also, they have nothing to do with Newt's current dilemma.

 **"For the last time, Newt, we cannot expand the Guild."** Stacker says, twirling a fork in a cardboard box of lo mein. **"Not only is it financially improbable, it's out of line with Tradition and would have us all stripped of title."**

They're gathered around the Guild's Round Table, capital-R, capital-T. Each Guild headquarters has its own. The Table is massive, about eight feet in diameter with the tabletop itself being about ten inches thick. Carved into the surface is a series of vignettes that tell the story of the foundation of the first Guild, and at the center is a small glass cut-out, about six inches in diameter, with a piece of the World Tree suspended in the middle. It might not be larger than a splinter, but it serves as a vital reminder of the connectivity of the Guild system, despite their independent operation.

It also makes for a great place for the Guild to eat.

Newt groans. **"How many more times are we going to have to be hospitalized by combat until you realize that Tradition is just a fancy word for ego? I mean, Hermann was in a coma for a month last year, and the city almost got leveled during the next Exorcism because of his absence."**

 **"Leave me out of this,"** Hermann mutters before taking a sip of egg drop soup. 

**"We did. When you were in that coma."**

Tendo laughs around a mouthful of rice. **"Divines, Newt."** He groans, **"How long you been holding on to that one?"**

 **"I'm serious, guys,"** Newt protests. **"If we could expand the Guild-- just bring in another Rogue, another Warlock-- I mean, we'd be unstoppable."**

 **"You forget history."** Stacker says, setting down his box of lo mein on the Table. **"Remember the Bruges Guild?"**

The Bruges Guild is a cautionary tale and piece of unfortunate magical history. 

It's a long, complicated story that ends in the unintentional loss of magical attainment of the entire population of Belgium circa 1965. Needless to say, it's a sore and painful topic. 

**"We aren't Bruges, Stacker."** Newt contests. **"We- I mean, first of all, we wouldn't try half the crazy shit they did. Making deals with the Demons? I mean, that would have destroyed a Guild of any size."**

 **"How much longer do you intend to push this agenda, Newt?"** Hermann asks, looking over the rim of his glasses with contempt. **"If you spend half the time on research that you spend trying to break Tradition, you'd get twice as much work done."**

Newt scoffs. **"Whatever. Should we revisit the time you turned an entire city block invisible because you couldn't wait for me to cast a single ward?"**

 **"Hey. Guys."** Tendo interjects, putting down his bowl of rice and putting up both hands. **"Listen. Let's cut the tension, alright? Fuck, marry, kill-"**

 **"No."** For once, Stacker, Newt, and Hermann speak in unison.

**"C'mon. Don't you wanna hear your options?"**

**"Are any of them women?"** Hermann asks.

**"Well-- yeah."**

**"That'll be a problem, considering two of us are gay."**

**"Then you'd know who to kill!"** Tendo laughs alone at his joke. A sigh. **"Fine. Alright."** He closes his box of rice, rising to his feet. **"It was a great list, by the way."** A pregnant, expectant silence. **"Like... it was gonna be a hard choice."** He looks at the other three expectantly, and the gaze is returned with indifference. Tendo leaves the table.

Newt, Hermann, and Stacker eat in silence for a few minutes.

 **"Have you two finished your presentation for Bisa yet?"** Stacker asks, not looking up from his noodles.

_No._

**"Yes,"** Hermann responds.

While there is technically no Guild hierarchy, there are four senior Guild members-- ambassadors of sorts-- who represent the Guilds to major political bodies such as the United Nations. They have no real responsibility: they are retired from Guild service due to age, but are not yet considered unfit for service. They are called Elders, of which Bisa is the Paladin. Originally from the Ivory Coast, she served a Guild in France until the age of thirty-two before relocating to Toyko until the age of forty-five, when she was honored with the title of Elder after the sudden death of the previous Elder Paladin.

She concerns herself largely with Guilds such as Newt's, which focus on research and development over military power. She is a strong believer in the philosophy that mind overpowers muscle. She's also _terrifying_.

 **"Yeah,"** Newt lies in tandem, **"We have, uh, some really interesting findings."**

**"On the Spectral Weaponry?"**

Hermann and Newt both pale.

Spectral Weaponry is the magical discovery that put Newt on the Guild's map and eventually got him assigned as a Warlock. It's an incredibly rare and lethal form of magic that, in short, allows a magic-attuned individual to generate a weapon from pure spiritual power. Newt has only been able to replicate it twice-- once during the same battle where Hermann was put into a coma-- and both times it was incredibly dangerous to his well-being.

He has made _some_ advancement. Hermann was able to get some magical readings off the armor that Newt was wearing during that battle, and together they were able to identify some unfamiliar magical signatures, but after that, everything went cold. What more is there to know than that the entire thing is a mystery? Newt's a researcher, not an inventor. **"Uh, yeah."**

Stacker's jaw sets, and his gaze travels between Newt and Hermann. **"If you don't have something to present to Bisa, now would be the time to let me know."**

 **"No, uh, we're good. Actually, we were gonna work on the presentation after this,"** Newt says. **"We have, uh, a lot of information to fit into that twenty-minute time slot. So we should... get to work on it as soon as possible."**

 **"Exactly."** Hermann says dryly.

 **"Speaking of which,"** Newt says, **"We should... go ahead and work on that now,"** He stands up, bulky wooden chair screaming against the floor as he pushes it back. **"C'mon, Hermann."**

 **"I haven't finished eating."** Hermann replies.

**"Yes. You have."**

Tense silence. **"I suppose I have."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many Chekov's Guns in this chapter that I actually had to get a Concealed Handgun License to publish it.
> 
> Blah blah kudos and comments my url is banksyhater.


	4. FLASHBACK: NOVEMBER 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning in this chapter for violence, injury, combat, long-term hospitalization, and near-death experiences. Feel free to skip to the end for a brief synopsis of events if you are uncomfortable with this kind of content.

It's November 2019.

Newt is covered in ash and soot and blood. 

He stands in the smoking remains of a middle school. 

All he can hear is ringing and screaming.

 _Onibaba_ towers over him, a ten-foot Demon with no certain form. When Newt is able to look at it for longer than a few seconds, he makes out what appears to be a quadrupedal figure of shadow and grime and darkness. It's lurking, groaning, screaming, making noises that no mortal ears were meant to hear.

Tendo is doing some impossible acrobatics, dual-wielding impossibly large hand cannons, firing off round after round. The volleys collide squarely in the middle of what Newt can only assume is Onibaba's head, but the form simply swallows the bullets up, hissing and smoking angrily as it eats away at layers and layers of enchantment.

And Hermann is navigating ill-supported I-beams that once held up the roof, which were exposed by the destruction of the building. He is searching for the right place to strike.

Newt turns his staff over in his bloodied hand.

It's dark wood, almost midnight black, with a current of magical energy running through it constantly, streaks of neon blue flashing like electricity. The staff is impressive in size, taller than Newt at almost six feet in length. At its head is a bright red stone which swirls with unknowable depths, reflecting impossible light and whispering the language of the divine.

He plants his feet, swirling the staff over his head, reciting a long enchantment in the divine tongue before slamming it into the ground with a _crack_. The ground shakes, and the sky splits open, and a bolt of lightning drives directly into the center of Onibaba's bizarre form. And the entire area goes bright white, and Onibaba wails, falling to its knees.

Everything that happens next is recalled by Newt in explicit detail. 

He begins to swirl his staff again, this time around his hips, gearing up to cast a combustion that might finish the weakened Demon.

Hermann jumps down from an I-beam, daggers drawn, prepared to deliver what might also be a killing blow to Onibaba.

Stacker's grip slips on his broadsword, and it falls to the ground.

Tendo runs out of ammunition.

The stars in some wicked constellation align.

Somewhere in the residual chaos of the lightning, Onibaba's immaterial form swallows Hermann whole.

And Newt casts the spell, pointing the head of the staff at the Demon, sending a wave of combustive magic directly at it.

When the wave of fire subsides, Hermann lays on the ground, unconscious, and Onibaba stands over him on two terrifying, unknowable feet.

Time picks back up. 

The stars fall out of formation.

Stacker picks up his sword, burying it in the Demon's foot. Tendo throws an enchanted knife at a shadowy claw. 

And Newt grips his staff, charging head-on at Onibaba, free hand searching in the pockets of a hip bag in his combat uniform, trying to find by touch a magical salve that might help Hermann recover from the strike.

Onibaba swings at Newt before he can reach Hermann, knocking him aside. He collides with Tendo, and the both of them skid across the floor. Newt's staff falls from his grip, broken in half, shining with unconfined magical power.

Newt doesn't even realize the knife in his side, Tendo's knife, until he's standing up. He curses, yanking the blade out with a pained shout. He drops it on the ground and applies a wound-closing salve with his other hand, which trembles violently. **"I have to get him!"** Newt shouts at Tendo over the chaos. 

**"No!"** Tendo replies, rolling on to his side, weakly retrieving a pistol strapped to his ankle. **"Are you trying to die?"**

 **"No, and neither is he!"** Newt turns to charge back at Onibaba, only to be met with another spectral sweep. He flies about seven feet, rolling across the concrete and colliding with a pile of shattered bricks. 

He groans, rising to his feet.

The world screams at him-- he's undoubtedly concussed. But, he has it in him for one more charge. 

And Stacker is still swinging at Onibaba, blade glowing with divine energy. He's hacking away at _something_. This fight is turning in their favor. It _has_ to be. Tendo is still shooting at Onibaba, which sways slightly against the force of blessed bullets.

They have to win.

But he can see Hermann, still as stone, beaten and battered and bloody, one hand gripping a dagger.

He looks like he's asleep.

What comes next evades simple description.

It's a fire, burning inside of him, but not scorching in its heat. Like a charge was set inside of Newt when he was born, and it's been burning all his life, and only here and now has the wick burned down to ignite the charge.

He looks at Hermann's unmoving body, and he feels everything: anger, pain, fear, **_everything_**.

Anger that he was so reckless as to strike a creature surrounded on all sides.

Pain that he killed one of the foremost magical researchers of the states.

Fear that here, now, in his first year of being in a Guild, he's already gotten human blood on his hands.

Everything, everything, _everything_ all at once. Surrounding him on all sides, closing in around him. Suffocating, silencing. 

Still.

It's not an unmoving stillness- Newt can still see the chaos of the world around him. Clouds of dust move in the vicious November wind. Onibaba continues to sway under the desperate volleys of Stacker and Tendo's attacks. Hermann's hair rustles just slightly in the breeze, body kept from the sun by Onibaba's form.

The stillness is a stagnation of thought. Newt has worked through everything that he could think and feel already. Now, his mind is a tundra.

A reservoir inside of him breaks wide open, and a tide of something inhuman floods in.

According to Tendo, this is when the beam of light came from the heavens and swallowed Newt whole, brilliant and blue and blazing. He was lost in it, and when it subsided, he was radiant, holding in his hands a scythe of pure spectral energy.

Then, according to Stacker, Newt ran directly up to Onibaba, dragging the scythe on the ground behind him, the tip leaving a trail of blue fire in its wake. But he moved like someone-- some _thing_ \-- else. It was as if some outside force had picked up Newt and was using _him_ as the weapon. A nexus for something greater.

And then, Tendo and Stacker say, Newt planted his feet, turning, swinging the scythe up. An arc of blue flame flew forward, bisected Onibaba, and collapsed a barely-standing wall on the far side of the destroyed building.

All Newt has of those moments is Tendo and Stacker's reports. He doesn't remember anything at all of what he did, only the blinding light touching him, filling him, and leaving him standing in the wake of Onibaba's dissipated body. Healed.

Then, the hours spent in the ICU with his Nintendo Switch, feet propped up on the arm of Hermann's hospital bed, waiting and waiting and waiting for him to come around.

Late-night rituals, bargains made with the divine, promises made and secrets kept, the superhuman tongue his native language under cover of night.

Even now, Newt's not sure why he worked so hard to bring Hermann back from the brink. Maybe it was some kind of nerdy solidarity. 

All he knows is that somewhere in his congress with the superhuman, Newt forged a deep, magical bond with Hermann that tied the strings of their fates together into a tapestry of fortune.

Whatever waits for him, waits for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we found ourselves in the heat of the moment at a battle in November 2019, where Hermann is grievously injured by an ill-timed strike from Newt in the Guild's fight against Onibaba. The anguish of seeing Hermann presumably dead is enough to activate Newt's Spectral Weapon, which saves the Guild.
> 
> When Hermann is recovering in the ICU, Newt undergoes a series of ancient, arcane magic rituals that tie their fates together.
> 
> It's all very angsty and generally not fun.
> 
> Blah blah kudos comments my tumblr @ is banksyhater


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